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scent from the sweat on my pads ended up on the blades of grass. And it was just more satisfying, somehow, to lift my leg and mark the corners of the yard instead of a leg of the couch.
    I raced around the yard some more, my nose up in the wind, picking up whatever smells the breeze bought me. Being in the yard alone was not as much fun as being there with the boy, but it was definitely better than the garage!
    However, when the breeze brought new, cold raindrops my way, I began to think that the garage had its points. I went back to the dog door and poked my nose at it. If I’d gotten out on my own, was there a chance that …
    Yes! I could get back into the garage all by myself, too! Under a roof once more, I shook a little water from my fur and wished the boy were here to see what I had learned. I was sure he’d call me a good dog. There would probably be a biscuit in it for me.
    After the rain ended, I tried my new trick with the dog door again, and sure enough, I was out in the backyard for a second time. I dug a hole, chewed the hose, and barked at Smokey, who was sitting in a window and pretending not to notice me. When a large yellow bus pulled up in front of the house, Ethan and several more neighborhood kids, including Chelsea, tumbled out. I jumped up to put my paws against the fence, and the boy ran to me, laughing.
    The doghouse didn’t get much use after that. But every now and then, Ethan and I still played Doghouse. It would usually happen when he got off the bus with his shoulders slumped, smelling tired and sad. Then he’d crawl inside the doghouse and call me, and I’d push myself in, too. It got a little harder to get in there as months went by, and I had to leave more and more of my rear end outside. But I did it, because the boy wanted me.
    He would put his arm around me and tell me things quietly. “Nobody would play with me at recess, Bailey,” he’d whisper. Or “I can’t believe my teacher gave me a D. I worked so hard on that project, Bailey. It’s not fair.” Or sometimes he’d just tell me, “You’re lucky to be a dog, Bailey. It’s tough being a boy.”
    I didn’t understand most of the words, although I wagged every time he said my name. But I knew that he was sad, and that being with me in the doghouse made him feel better. I would sit perfectly still with him, however long he needed me. This was my job, I came to understand, and it was even more important than staying close to the boy, or playing with the boy, or learning tricks with the boy, or sleeping beside the boy at night. I was supposed to comfort Ethan whenever he needed me.
    *   *   *
    Each time Ethan and I went out to play in the neighborhood, a crowd of kids would show up. I got to know most of them. There was Billy, who usually smelled like peanut butter, and Chelsea, of course, who’d bring Marshmallow with her. And now and then there’d be a new kid with a new smell for me to memorize.
    So when Todd arrived, I figured it was good news. First, it meant that Mom baked delicious cookies for Ethan to take over to the new family, and she gave me a few as a reward for keeping her company in the kitchen. Second, a new boy to play with was always fun.
    Todd was the same age as Ethan, and they began to spend a lot of time together. Todd had a little sister named Linda, but he wouldn’t let her play with them most of the time. I didn’t know why. I liked her fine. She fed me sugary treats when nobody was watching.
    There was a game that Todd liked to play, down by a small creek that ran behind the houses. He’d bring a pack of matches and burn things—leaves, sticks, Linda’s dolls. I stayed a little distance away, since I didn’t like the way the matches smelled when Todd struck them. And the smell of Linda’s plastic dolls when their hair lit up and their faces shrank and shriveled was horrible.
    Ethan